


remember

by evangelinerose



Series: Draco One Shots & Drabbles [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 16:13:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19727176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evangelinerose/pseuds/evangelinerose
Summary: In an attempt to mend a shattered heart, you decide to try using a revolutionary new technique that can remove events – and even people – from your memories completely. But Draco Malfoy has no intention of staying out of your life for good. Angst, with an (implied) happy ending!





	remember

**Author's Note:**

> This is just the first of my Draco Malfoy fics/imagines that I am transferring here from Tumblr, so more to come -- there will be both series and one shots. Any thoughts or comments are much appreciated :)

**_I. reprieve_ **

He entered the room slowly and sat across the desk from you, wearing the standard colors of Healer robes despite the fact that you were not at St. Mungo’s. His face was solemn.

Technically, the people working here _were_ Healers, or had been, and they no longer had the official title. They were specialists in memory. At St. Mungo’s, they had modified and restored lost memories for countless years. They had worked tirelessly to return the memory to their patients; trying to repair the damage of the Obliviate charm. Even the most powerful ones.

It seemed that no one had ever considered that perhaps some people _wanted_ to forget things.

Those sorts of people just had to just live with their memories, it seems.

That is, until a few months ago, when these Healers had left St. Mungo’s to open their own startup. These ones had recognized that there may be a need in the world, a niche that they could fill – and so here you were, hoping they could help you.

So technically, not Healers.

Technically, they were “memory specialists.”

And you were desperate.

“I’m sure you’re already aware of what we do here,” said the man, leaning back in his chair and watching you carefully. “There’s been a lot of people your age coming in, recent graduates of Hogwarts, wanting to erase a battle a few weeks ago – ”

“Yes,” you told him simply. “How does it work?”

“You tell us what you want to erase. Bring in any items that may remind you of the event in question. And we do our best.”

You hesitated. “What if it isn’t an event that I want to erase?”

The man raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What is it you’d like to erase, Miss…?”

“Y/L/N.”

“Well then, Miss Y/L/N. How exactly can we try to help you? What would you like us to try and erase, exactly? There are certain…limitations,” he said carefully.

“It’s not a what,” you said slowly. “It’s a who.”

The man blinked. “An entire person?”

You felt your heart sink. “Is it not possible?”

He leaned back further, stroking his chin. “I don’t see why not, though erasing an entire person may be tricky. They are entangled in multiple events, multiple emotions, of course…but if you’re willing to try…”

“Anything,” you said quickly. “I’m willing to try anything.”

The man rested his elbows on the table, placing the tips of his fingers together and smiling at you a little. “Then come back next week for a consultation meeting, Miss Y/L/N. Make an appointment with our secretary. We’ll ask you some preliminary questions and see what we can do for you.”

The relief nearly made you pass out.

Perhaps, finally, he would be gone for good.

You stood, keeping your face carefully neutral. “I look forward to it.”

_**II. recollection** (two months ago)  
_

_“You thought I actually wanted you?” His voice was cold. His eyes were even colder. He was doing everything that you used to think he was over the years. It was like he was reverting back to the old Malfoy in front of your very eyes.  
_

_You had thought that the cold gray of his eyes had been a mere mask. Because had gotten to know a different boy – no, a man, now – in this seventh year of hell here at the school, under the rule of the Carrows, being made to torture and be tortured. You had seen him pretend to torture first years, protect others –  
_

_And then he had deliberately protected you, one time when the Carrows had pulled you forward to torture you in front of the class. He had raised his hand, asked questions, talked and talked and talked, stalling, or so it seemed to you, at least, until the bell had sounded and they hadn’t had time to throw a single Cruciatus at you. You had tracked him down to thank him, and though he had acted like it was nothing, from that moment forward, the two of you had a strange sort of alliance. An alliance you had never considered before, but probably your most powerful one: there was no arguing that it was good to have Draco Malfoy on your side. And you had, almost without noticing, spent more and more time with him.  
_

_You realized things. That you had a lot in common; that he was fun to talk to, even, and could distract you from the horrors of your everyday life; that he was different, really, than what you had thought he was before.  
_

_Over time, you had fallen for him._

_Slowly and easily, like falling asleep, until one day, watching him write an essay for Herbology and the way his eyes scrunched when he was thinking, you had realized, with a strange jolt in your chest, that you were actually kind of into him.  
_

_Soon enough, it progressed to something more._

_You were spending limited time together to sneak behind tapestries, in dark corridors, where no one could find you – you drowned in the steel color of his eyes, in his lips, clung to his chest as he kissed you, wrapped your hands in his hair and pulling, sighing in content when he entered you, carefully, in so many ways and places – standing against a stone wall, his arms supporting you easily; with him hovering carefully on top of you in a makeshift bedroom in the Room of Requirement, hands on your face; or even outside, behind the greenhouses, which had been the first time that he had held you so closely, afterward…  
_

_But now? Now you were finding out that you had been terribly wrong about all of what you suspected – or perhaps hoped – that he might actually feel for you._

_“I – I thought that we…really connected,” you whispered back, feeling smaller and more uncertain and broken than you ever had in your entire life._

_He scoffed, jaw set in a hard, unforgiving line.  
_

_“You’re wrong,” he spat. “You’re nothing to me. Just a convenient fuck.”_

_Your heart was going a million miles an hour, and you suddenly felt it difficult to swallow. Your mouth was dry, and there was a lump the size of a Quaffle in your throat. All you wanted to do was curl into a ball on the floor and lie there forever._

_But still, you managed to say it. “But I…I think I might love you, Draco.”_

_For just a moment, his eyes flickered with uncertainty. It gave you the strangest feeling of hope, a madness that blossomed in your chest – but it was promptly shut down again when his eyes iced over, and he glared at you._

_“Well then you’re a fucking idiot,” he said, voice as mean and biting as ever. “Were you really not smart enough to see that we’re on different sides?”_

_“It didn’t seem like you were really on that side – you helped…I thought – ” you sputtered, but he cut you off quickly, and brusquely._

_“Self-preservation,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Playing the sides, getting advantages of both. Obviously.” He scoffed again. “As if I could really want you.”_

_At this, you actually did sink to the floor. And you let the despair wash over you as he turned on his heel and stalked away, shoulders stiff, without looking back. You wished, more than anything, that you could be numb to the torment inside you.  
_

_He had never cared._

_He had used you, and he was the same boy that you had always thought he was, for all the years before this one.  
_

_And you hated yourself for still caring far, far too much.  
_

**III. raze**

“If you see him again, you might remember,” they were telling you two weeks later, as you sat nervously in the chair, clutching the armrests.

It was about to begin. The pain was about to go away. _He_ was about to go away.

“Even if you just pass him on the street, it might trigger a memory, and then the work here will be for nothing,” they warned you. “As we told you, deleting a whole person is an unstable sort of business, from what we can guess. You’re actually the first. Then again, you could see him and nothing will happen. We don’t know, but it’s safer that you avoid all contact with the target.”

“That won’t be a problem,” you muttered. “I’m moving out of the country.”

The woman smiled at you kindly as she pricked your arm with a needle, preparing to insert a potion into your veins that would help you erase what you so desperately needed to. “Where to, dear? Are you going with your family?”

“South. Somewhere warm and far away. Spain, or Italy, I guess. And my parents are dead, so it’ll just be me. I can start something new.” Your voice was toneless.

You had always been mostly invisible at school, after all. Until him, anyway.

The woman glanced at the man with a look of slight concern, and both seemed distinctly uncomfortable, uncertain what, exactly, to say to such an admission. You were grateful when they didn’t say anything or offer words of comfort. It would have felt hollow, and you really didn’t want to hear it.

Finally, after bustling around a few more minutes, the man cleared his throat.

“Are you ready, Miss Y/L/N?” he asked.

You nodded, breathing deeply. “Yes.”

“As a disclaimer, even though you have signed, I must ask once final time before we begin the process: are you, Y/N Y/L/N, certain that you would like to delete the target, a one – ” he paused, glancing at the name on a paper he was holding – “ _Draco Malfoy_ from your memories entirely, so that you will have no recollection of him whatsoever, even – hopefully – upon seeing him?”

Your fingers gripped the arm rests so tightly that your knuckles turned white. “I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life,” you said, flatly.

He set down the paper; nodded at the woman, who walked over to where the potion was in a huge vial, waiting to be pumped into your veins. “Then we will begin. Remember: you will find yourself falling asleep within ten seconds. After the extraction of your memories – which, depending on the amount and emotional impact, can take up to three days – you will wake, soundly, in your own bed.”

Nodding, you settled back and closed your eyes. “Do it. Please.”

**IV:** **repress** _(two months, one week ago)_

_Being called to meet with the Dark Lord was never a good thing, in Draco’s experience. It meant, at best, being mocked and scorned in front of a room full of people; at worst, being tortured or being made to torture someone else.  
_

_He wished he could have stayed at Hogwarts over the Easter holidays, but that would have been incredibly suspicious; and besides, he had to check on his mother and make sure that she was doing okay._

_She wasn’t. Not really. But then again, who was?_

_“You wished to see me, my Lord?” he murmured, head bowed low and carefully avoiding the eyes of the Dark Lord. It was all about making sure the Dark Lord thought you weren’t looking in his eyes out of respect for his authority, out of reverence – not because you had something to hide._

_And Draco did, in fact have something to hide. Someone to hide, more like._

_“Yes. Look at me, boy.” His voice was high and cold as always.  
_

_Slowly, Draco raised his gaze to look into the red, pitiless eyes across from him. He didn’t feel any fear. He was good at not feeling things when he was around the Dark Lord. It was necessary to perform Occulumens anyway, but it also helped him get through the interactions while still retaining an ounce of sanity._

_“I was told something curious,” said the Dark Lord, watching Draco carefully from where he stood a few feet away. A slow, cruel smile spread across his lips. “Very curious, indeed.”_

_Draco waited, but the Dark Lord didn’t seem like he was going to go on, so he felt he had to fill the silence. “I – I would be most inclined to hear it, my Lord.”_

_“It seems that you have a little play thing,” said the Dark Lord, smiling wider as Draco stared at him impassively, hoping that the Dark Lord couldn’t hear the way that his heart had begun to beat rapidly, painfully, against his chest. “A young woman, I’m told. You were seen sneaking with her behind a tapestry.”_

_Draco felt sick, but he kept his emotions carefully controlled. One slip up could be deadly, for him and for you._

_“I – yes, my Lord,” he admitted, barely able to choke out the words._

_The red eyes glinted. “And her blood? Not a Pureblood, surely? Or else you wouldn’t feel the need to hide her, no?”_

_“I – ” Draco had no idea what the right answer was. Maybe there wasn’t a right answer. Maybe the Dark Lord was just going to torture or kill him._

_He laughed, and the cold sound of it made the hairs on Draco’s neck and his arms stand up. When he looked back at the Slytherin boy, he seemed rather amused again. “Don’t worry, Draco. Plenty of my Death Eaters have desires of the flesh and turn to the lesser creatures to fulfill them. They can use these women in ways they wouldn’t be able to use respectable Purebloods, I’m told.”_

_“I – yes, that’s…that’s what I’m doing,” said Draco quickly. He could feel his hands beginning to shake, and forced himself to remain calm.  
_

_“Well,” said the Dark Lord, smiling again, but this time with no trace of amusement. “You’ve had your fun, young Draco. But remember that using the mixed or Mudbloods for your own pleasure more than a few times is utterly shameful for someone with your purity. I trust that you know this.”_

_“Yes,” breathed Draco, “It was only – I – ”_

_“I don’t want excuses,” said the Dark Lord. “When you return to school, you know it would be unacceptable for you to repeat the experience with this creature.”_

_“O-of course,” choked Draco, eyes downcast. “I was already – I wasn’t going to see her again, of course not – ”  
_

_“A reminder is in order, I think,” the Dark Lord said, softly, and Draco glanced up in horror, and saw that the red eyes were dancing again, the mouth curled up in a slight smile as he rose his wand. “It pains me, of course,” he said, though his face showed the complete opposite. “But if you are seen with her again, she will be eliminated, and I’ll have to do this to you all over again. Unfortunately.”  
_

_Draco’s eyes widened in horror, and the Dark Lord rose his wand._

“ _Crucio_!”

**V: realization**

Draco Malfoy was drunk when he got home, despite the fact that it was only ten o’clock in the morning.

Alcohol had become his way of coping in the past few weeks since the end of the War. Not healthy in the slightest, and it made his mother sick with worry, but he couldn’t seem to stop.

The Dark Lord was gone, and he should have rejoiced for that. In some ways, he supposed he did. But the loss of everything else was far too high to rejoice much.

His father to jail, for starters. 

His mother’s sanity, too, in many ways. She was a ghost these days, wandering around Malfoy Manor and looking so pale and gaunt that it put a fissure in Draco’s heart every time he saw her. 

His good name, as well; for while he had been kept out of Azkaban, unlike his father, he was hated in the Wizarding World – spat on, glared at, refused service in many establishments.

So many classmates, too, during the battle.

And –

_You_.

He knew you would never talk to him again. He knew that you hated him. After he had rejected you – the hardest thing he had ever done – you had steadfastly avoided his eyes the rest of the year, careful not to look his direction even once.

He hated himself, too, which was perhaps why he hadn’t tried to talk to you. Yet. He knew he would have to try, eventually. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he didn’t try. Maybe you’d let him explain…

“Draco?” His mother’s voice sounded from the kitchen, and he stumbled in, leaning against the wall so that perhaps she wouldn’t see quite how wasted and unsteady on his feet he was. She did, however; he could tell by the way that she pursed her lips at him, though she didn’t say anything about it right that moment.

“You got a letter,” she said. “Have you ever heard of Memory Extraction Services?”

“No,” he slurred, walking forward to take it from her and frowning at the return address in confusion. But there was no doubt it was addressed to him. Shrugging, he ripped it open to read it.

Slowly, as his eyes scanned its contents, they widened in shock and horror.

_Dear Mr. Malfoy,_

_We are legally required to inform you that you have been the subject of a memory removal, performed by our staff to one Y/N Y/L/N._

_Our patient will have no recollection of you, even, presumably, upon seeing you. Please refrain from interacting with our patient in the future, as it could possibly cause them a great deal of confusion, and you would be responsible for the costs of another procedure should your interference cause the memories to return._

_We are here for any questions you may have regarding this process.  
_

_Cordially yours,_

_Memory Extraction Services  
Diagon Alley 45_

“Holy shit,” he breathed, completely forgetting his mother was in the room.

“What is it, darling?” she asked, concerned.

“I – I have to go,” he said, stuffing the letter unceremoniously in his pocket. “I need to go talk to this place and – and then I need to go find someone – ”

“Draco, you’re drunk and talking nonsense,” Narcissa said crossly. “Here, just have a tea, darling, sit down…”

“No!” Draco snapped. “I need to fix this. I need to find her, and…” He stopped, unsure what it was, exactly, what he would do when he found you, because it may not even matter – and then he saw his mother eyeing him curiously.

“Her?”

“No time, mum”, he said, darting off to the Floo. “This is important.”

He had no plan. But he had to do something.

It would probably take ages to track you down if you were this determined not to be found – determined enough to _delete_ him – but the wait was over.

He had to try to find you.

He just hoped it wasn’t too late.

**VI: recovery (a new start)** _(four months later)_ **  
**

Though your Italian was still shaky, it was enough to get your work done.

You had found a job in a cute little cafe, and you thoroughly enjoyed it. Plenty of men that came in flirted with you, it was in a particularly artsy district of Rome, and your boss was easygoing and friendly. You got to better your language skills, and after work, you always walked nearby to your favorite _gelateria_. **  
**

The bell clanged, but you had a line of cappuccinos lined up to make – it was the early morning rush – and one of your regular customers was chatting with you animatedly about work at the bar, where he was sipping his espresso. You replied back as you worked, smiling and laughing, and after twenty rapid minutes, you had everyone served and finally had a moment to breathe.

For some reason, your skin was tingling, like someone was staring.

Glancing up, you saw a man hovering just near the bar, looking at you. 

Something happened to you when you locked eyes with him: your insides fluttered, your heart began to pound, and you felt your face begin to warm. These of course, were normal reactions upon seeing an attractive man – nothing new, really, and this one _really_ was quite attractive. Tall, pale, blonde, and wearing a suit. He had pointed features and an aristocratic air about him, but it was the look on his face that got you all jittery inside. 

He was looking at you like… 

Like you were the only person in the entire room.

But it wasn’t these things happening that was strange about your reaction.

No – it was the inexplicable, nagging feeling of something in your gut, something that you couldn’t quite identify. **  
**

“ _Prego_ ,” you said, smiling shyly at him.

He smiled back – a dazzling sort of smile. He was still staring at you as if he couldn’t really believe you existed. You didn’t think that a man had ever looked at you that wayin your entire life. **  
**

“No Italian, sorry,” he said, in a posh English accent. Something else jolted in your insides, and you suddenly realized what the nagging feeling was in your gut: familiarity. “I took French with my governess instead,” he explained. **  
**

“Oh don’t worry, I’m also English,” you said, laughing. “Been here just a few months, actually. My Italian is patchy, but it gets me by. Can I get you something?”He didn’t answer for such a long moment that you felt your face heating up again; his eyes just traced over you with a distinct longing in them. “Um,” you said, laughing nervously. “Do I…do we know each other?” **  
**

“It took me a long time, but I’m here,” he said, very softly, and something about the way he said it nearly made your heart stop. What in the world did that mean? But before you could ask, he was speaking again. “I’m Draco Malfoy,” he said, and you titled your head, puzzled as to why you felt that name meant something to you even though you were quite sure that you had never heard it before.“And I was wondering something,” he continued earnestly, stepping up to the bar.

“What’s that?” His eyes were breathtaking. Entrancing, really.

He grinned, eyes dancing a little, and you suspected that he was aware of the effect he was having on you. “When do you get off?” **  
**

“Two,” you told him shyly, your heart leaping in your chest.

“Can I meet you back here? Take you out?”

You smiled. “Sure. Yeah, I’d…I’d like that.”

“Me too,” he told you. “Very much.” With one last charming smile, he turned and walked out the door, but not without glancing over his shoulder one last time to look at you. Your heart squeezed in your chest.

You weren’t quite sure why, but it felt like something big was happening, despite the fact that he was just a stranger in your cafe.

And you were excited to follow this thing wherever it took you. **  
**


End file.
